


blooming.

by floaromas



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 22:35:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19072063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floaromas/pseuds/floaromas
Summary: it's okay to admit it to yourself.or, "two dark knights are far too emotionally constipated for their own good"





	blooming.

The first time it happens it is the early morning hours.  The sun has not even begun to rise. Rielle is curled up beside him, her small hands curled about the bedsheets and holding them tightly.  The poor thing. She is too proud to cry, but even she let slip tears when she thinks no one was looking. Sid never looked, but he could hear her muffled cries.  

Sid misses them, too.  But he tries to be strong.  He has to be, for her.

That early morning he is suddenly seized with a burning in his stomach, his heart pounding in his ears.  He feels ill. He slides out from beneath the covers and runs out into the cool Ishgard air, retching in the stone alleyway by the Forbidden Knight.  The cobblestone is frigid against his scales as he fell to the ground, hacking onto the stone.

It hurts.  Petals come flowing from his lips, intermingled with his own blood.  He is confused, his head splitting in two, and yet he can not stop. Only when he catches his breath, his lips quivering did he dare to look down at what came from his body.  A pool of blood and a scattering of petals, long and spindly and as red as the sunrise. He blinks, his vision slowly steadying. His claws dig into the cobblestone.

“What the hell...?

 

Adjusting to another soul dwelling within your body is not easy - not that one is likely to assume it is.  The thoughts the warrior of light shares with Fray are like water, flowing easily through one mind and back and then out the other, never quite settling in one place long enough.  Bubbling.

Sometimes the warrior of light forgets themself mid-sentence, their mind suddenly full of the thoughts of a disembodied Fray.  The thoughts are either those of frustration concerning the warrior’s ceaseless (in fray’s words, aggravating) willingness to help any of those in need, or a longing for a home he left behind.  Those thoughts hurt the most.

There is a hole in the warrior of light’s chest and they do not not know whose it is.

That same early morning they woke with a cry, their heart twisting and their throat aching.  They were not so lucky as Sid; this time the flowers and blood spilled across the white sheets of their inn room.  They covered their mouth in horror, panting as they tried to wipe the blood away, smearing their lips with the substance.  

“What was that?” they breathed.

_Are you daft? They’re flowers._

Fray, ever helpful.  

But why?  Before the question could escape the warrior’s lips, Fray continued.

_You really think I know why? You can’t blame it on me._

The warrior doesn’t know whose fault it is, but their heart aches.  They miss someone. ( _We_ miss someone.)

“Who?”

Fray was silent.

“Sid?”

Sid looks up from his hot mug of coffee, meeting Rielle’s concerned gaze from across the table.  

“Are you certain you’re feeling alright?”

“I’m sure.”

His eyes are ringed with dark shadows.  He’s barely been able to eat. Every night he is sick, the flowers coming violently in an even deeper shade of red.

Rielle is a smart girl.  She frowns.

“You’re terrible at lying.”

Sid simply takes a sip of his coffee.  

“Sid, you always tell me I will better if I just talk, so why don’t you just do the same?”

Sid continues to drink.

Rielle sighs, leaning back in her chair.  “...You really should follow your own advice.”

“I’m fine, Rielle.  I promise.”

  

The warrior woke up crying.  They flailed about on the covers, finally sitting up with their hair drenched in sweat and their hands shaking.  

“Sid...Sid...”

There was a name now.  They retched again, the flowers in whole pieces now, the red brilliant against the inky blackness of their room.  

_Stop it._

“Sid,” the warrior wailed.

_Stop._

The warrior steadied their breathing, running their hands through their hair.  “Fray, I...You...”

_Don’t say anything._

The warrior wanted to laugh.  Or cry. They couldn’t decide.  A strangled sob came from their lips.

“You can admit it-”

_Matron’s teets, are you listening?_

“It won’t get easier if you don’t.”

All was silent.  A cool breeze wafted through the half-opened window.

_It will never be easy._

“You don’t know that.”

_You’re infuriating._

“You say that because I’m right.”

 

“I’m sure he misses you, too, Fray.”

I’m sure he loved you, too.

 

“What are those flowers, Rielle?”

The duo stand outside the Forgotten Knight, observing a procession of men and woman garbed in black, their faces set in solemn expressions. They hold bouquets of red, spindly flowers.  A procession for the dead. For those we could not save.

“I heard someone say they’re for the dead,” she replies, not once meeting Sid’s gaze.

She reaches up and grips Sid’s hand.  “I miss Fray.”

He tightens his grip.  “I know.”

Somewhere, church bells are ringing.

“I miss them, too.”


End file.
